


Destination: Anywhere

by lego_hearts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, M/M, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:30:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lego_hearts/pseuds/lego_hearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembers the days he could just knock back a line of shots- well, an angel knocking back a line of shots is hardly a gracious sight anyway. But he remembers when he was far above this. When the small vices of humanity had no effect on him. When he could walk out of a bar and not have the smell lingering on his hair and his clothes. It's not that way now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destination: Anywhere

The bar has swallowed him whole. It's heavy with the smell of sweat and stale manufactured scents and beer. He wonders if this is why Dean feels so at home in bars. Nothing is your own once it's been absorbed into the air with the atoms of everyone else. It's an easy way to get lost. He's had a pint of beer and already his head is full and feeling fuzzy. Another weakness of humanity. Another thing to loathe. He wouldn't have found himself in this state before, but now he's this. He's a mess. He can get drunk and dirty and he's going to. Oh, if he's human now then he'll fall like the worst of this scum.

Another beer settles on the bar in front of him and he looks at it curiously. "I-" he starts, but the bartender, having apparently heard this several times before, simply gestures along the bar to another man who raises his glass at him. Well, when in Rome- he raises the new glass in return and chugs back three mouthfuls, licking the foam from his top lip.

"I haven't seen you here before," the voice is very close to his ear and it sends goosebumps down his neck.

"First time," he replies. "Thank you for the drink."

"Not a problem. You look like you need it." The man has scooted down the bar, settling beside Cas, right in his personal space.

"Really?"

"Well, you're on your own in this hive, you've knocked back a pint in about five minutes and you've been staring into the glass for at least another five. Who am I to ignore someone in such dire need?"

Cas lets out a hoarse laugh and shakes his head. "Yeah," is all he can say.

"So-" his new companion says after a pause. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Cas frowns briefly, brushing the condensation on his glass. "I don't know. I don't think there's much that can be done."

He feels a little bit sick, truth be told. His head is swimming. He remembers the days he could just knock back a line of shots- well, an angel knocking back a line of shots is hardly a gracious sight anyway. But he remembers when he was far above this. When the small vices of humanity had no effect on him. When he could walk out of a bar and not have the smell lingering on his hair and his clothes. It's not that way now. He'll leave here and smell of all of these people. Dirty and messed up. Dirty is something he doesn't remember, either. Bloody for a while perhaps, but dirty has always been something that can be rectified. Now it means he has to shower, he has to climb into the water and scrub and it's tiring and wearing and he hates it. He hates how dependent he has to be on such menial things. It's almost a weakness, needing to clean, needing to eat and drink and sleep. Dependency. Cas hates it.

“There's always something,” the man beside him says, his eyes wide and interested when Castiel finishes his pint in three gulps, his eyes glazing over with the onslaught of alcohol in his veins. “Another?”

Castiel nods because why the hell not. He can barely focus but feels the hand that rests on his thigh as heat through his jeans when his new friend signals for yet another beer.

“Must be a pretty bad thing, huh? Poor boy.” Cas hears the words and nods his head, though it rolls forward and it's difficult to pull it back up. Another pint of beer is placed before him. “Drink up,” the man says. “I'll help you forget.”

~~

“What the fuck, Sam? I asked you to do one thing. One thing-” Dean yells, pulling on his jeans over his still wet skin.

Sam has the decency to look sheepish. “I only turned my back for a second. Seriously, Dean, one second-”

“One second too many,” Dean snaps, pulling on a shirt too, his damp skin soaking through the material. “Jesus, Sammy. You know what he's been up to. He could be anywhere. What if he's arrested, huh?” Dean pulls on his socks and his boots and grabs the keys to the Impala. “Stay here. If he gets back just- fuck- just do what you were supposed to do before,” he says, storming out and slamming the door of the motel room closed behind him.

~~

The colder, cleaner air outside the bar is worse for Cas than the alcohol has been. He can't stand without swaying and he can barely see.

Not that there is much to see. The alley is dark. It smells of waste and grime and stagnant water and piss.

“Bit unsteady on your feet there-” the man, introduced at one point as Garth, says with a smile, holding Cas up with rough hands on his shoulders. “Why don't you get on your knees instead?”

Cas doesn't have the balance or strength to keep himself up or to object or fight. When Garth pushes down Cas sinks to his knees, one immediately soaking through with something, the other resting on a pebble that digs into his skin. He's on eye level with Garth's groin and even through this haze he knows what he's in for.

He laughs.

“I used to be an angel,” he says with a soft smile, gazing up at Garth, the only light a few feet away falling on him just so, just lighting up his eyes. “I used to be God. And now I'm on my knees in the dirt.”

Garth doesn't look entirely enthusiastic about Cas speaking. “Shh,” he coos. “Why don't you find something else to occupy your mouth?” He speaks gently though his fingers are anything but when they yank at Cas' hair, pulling his gaze away and back to Garth's groin.

“Why don't you go and shove your dick in a blender?” the new voice is familiar and Cas turns his head against the fingers in his hair, blinking up at the shape of Dean Winchester and his gun. “Get up, Castiel.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Garth says, stepping away from Cas, releasing his head and letting him slump forward against the wall, his forehead pressing into the brick. Conversation takes place above him, but it isn't until Dean is easing him back into a kneeling position that Cas forces himself to focus on what is going on.

“Cas? Cas, buddy, come on-”

Cas' head rolls back and he looks up at Dean again, his vision blurring the man above him. A little smile drifts languidly over his face before his eyes drop to Dean's belt, Dean's zipper- his hand reaches up and presses to the shape of Dean's cock, rubbing tenderly before he leans forward and kisses the same area, the heat of his breath reaching Dean through the material of his jeans and making him shiver, a soft noise of pleasure sliding from his lips before he can help himself. He needs to pull away. This shouldn't happen.

But Cas is inspired by Dean's reaction and his enthusiasm increases, mouthing the outline of Dean's slightly harder dick, fingers wandering to the button, fumbling to undo it.

“Cas, Jesus Christ,” Dean grabs his wrist and holds it away, though he's ashamed to admit that standing with his back to a wall in an alley with Cas on his knees is hardly a turn off. Certainly parts of him are very interested in where this could go. But he has obligations and more than that he loves the stupid jerk on the floor and he can't let this happen here. “Get up,” he grunts, despite Cas looking at him with needy, pleading eyes, more emotion in them than he's seen in days.

“But I need this,” Cas whispers, his mouth still hot on Dean's crotch.

“No. Get up,” Dean orders, prising himself from Cas' hands and mouth with so much reluctance it's almost painful and his cock gives a remorseful throb. “We're going home.”

~~~

Dean half carries Castiel back to the Impala and eases him down into the passenger side seat. He doesn't say anything, doesn't meet Cas' eyes, just climbs into the drivers seat and slams the door closed.

"What the Hell was that about, Cas?"

Cas shrugs his shoulders. "It was dirty."

"You're damn fucking right it was dirty. What the Hell is your problem?" Dean turns to look at Cas, his eyes burning with anger.

The look Cas returns makes Dean's blood run cold. It's so similar, almost a mirror image of the look the Cas of 2014 had cast him after Dean had asked what had happened to him. The same wide, resigned blue eyes, touseled hair, the same excess of stubble and almost painfully serene smile. "I used to be an angel, Dean."

Dean clears his throat, pushing down his own emotions because he has to remember time and time again that Castiel has been stripped down to a bare fraction of his previous person and yeah, it must be really fucking hard for him. "That doesn't mean you need to go around blowing guys in alleys, Cas," he says, starting up the motor of the Impala and setting her back on the main road towards their motel.

"But that- that's what it feels like is left. No virtues, no light. Just debauchery and vices-"

"You don't have to indulge in them. Debauchery-" Dean scoffs at the word and Castiel shoots him a glare.

“You should have left me to die,” Cas says.

“You know you're worth more than that,” Dean replies, holding back from shouting, screaming that he's angry and hurt because fuck, they'd been through enough, Dean had done everything to make Cas feel loved and wanted since he lost the souls.

“You don't understand, Dean,” Cas says, turning his eyes to look out of the window. “I'm nothing.”

“Don't,” Dean shakes his head. “Don't say that.”

“Just an empty vessel.”

“Cas-”

“I feel so small. I used to be God.”

The rest of the drive goes by in silence with Castiel staring blearily out of the window and Dean thinking hard as he drives.

 

Dean sees far too much of the future Castiel in the man sitting beside him. The beard, it's the beard mainly. And the heavy weight on the slim frame. The lack of life and light in his eyes. Castiel doesn't really eat much, just enough to keep him alive. And neither force nor gentle persuasion can get anything more in him. He's frustratingly stubborn. He either doesn't look in the mirror or he spends hours doing so, just staring. He showers and changes his clothes. He sleeps twice as much as Dean, which at least means he's easy to keep an eye on, a necessity made obvious two days after Dean returned with him, when Cas had walked out of the room in the middle of the night and not returned. Dean had found him several miles away come morning, shuffling along the street near collapse and miserable that his body didn't do the things it used to. Miserable at his weakness.

Dean keeps his eyes on Cas, but that doesn't make him eat, it doesn't make him happy. Dean has tried so, so hard. Because, after all, he is the one that begged and pleaded with Cas to just let go of the souls, to be with them again. And Cas does. He lets them go and Dean stays with him, nurses him, loves him. Oh, he loves him. They kiss, touch, it's physical and gentle. But Cas begins to slip away quickly.

Sam walks in on him holding a knife to his arm, feeling the pain and seeing the small cut that won't heal immediately and needs a band aid.

Dean often finds him outside in the middle of the night standing on the grass by their motel staring at the sky.

Another time he goes missing for four hours. The cops bring him back having found him on the roof of the local school and threaten to have him sectioned.

Sam and Dean put him on around the clock supervision. And Sam is brilliant, he's brilliant and the psychology thing and the gentle coaxing, but Cas is full of so much loathing for himself. Dean forces love on him, strokes his hair, kisses him gently, tries to get Castiel to respond the way he had only days ago, though it seems like months.

It doesn't work.

~~

Dean waits to help Castiel out of the car when they pull up outside the motel room again, and though Cas is more sober he doesn't say no to the arm supporting him beneath his armpits.

Sam is sitting on the bed when they arrive. He looks worried and sheepish still, though visibly relieved when he sees Castiel.

“Sam, will you give us some time, please,” Dean says grimly as Cas pulls from his arms and wanders towards the bathroom in a curving line.

“Yeah,” Sam nods, standing. “Of course.” Then. “Is he ok?”

Dean shrugs. He isn't willing to divulge all of the details to Sam. “Drunk,” he says simply. “We need to have a chat.”

Dean is sitting on the edge of the bed when Castiel returns from the bathroom, unsteady and looking worse for wear.

“Get over here, Cas,” Dean commands, surprised when Cas does as he's told without question, coming to stand about a foot away, looking down at the floor. “On your knees, Cas,” Dean commands again and is again satisfied when Castiel complies, dropping down onto the carpet.

Dean parts his own knees and gestures for Cas to come closer, between them, and Cas obeys, shuffling forwards. Dean's fingers slide through his hair, tipping Cas' head back so that their eyes meet.

"Tell me how you feel.”

Cas blinks rapidly for a couple of seconds. “Dirty, empty,” he starts. “Lost. Sick. Weak.”

“And do you think debauchery will make you feel better? Whoring yourself out to get used- that makes you feel better than what I give you?”

“It's all I deserve,” Cas whispers, forcing himself to continue to meet Dean's eyes. “Not what you give me. I can't return it.”

Dean glares, fingers gripping Cas' hair tightly whilst his other hand unbuttons his jeans, pulling out his half hard cock.

“Open your mouth,” he says, watching as Cas parts his lips, his cheeks flushing. Dean presses the head of his cock against Cas' mouth and sighs when Cas takes it in without question. Dean pushes Cas' head down inch by inch until Cas' mouth is as full as is comfortable, even though Dean's dick is hardening more by the second.

“You want to feel dirty? You want to be used, Cas?” he asks, pulling Cas' head back slightly before forcing him down again. “You come to me. You don't kneel down in an alley for strangers. You want to be used I can fucking use you, do you understand me?” Cas whimpers. Dean repeats the motion of pulling Cas up and then pushing him down, setting a rhythm that gets faster and harder with each repetition. “This is what you wanted, huh? This is what you wanted in the alley? Wanted me to fuck your mouth, to lose control to me?” Cas whimpers again and Dean leans back slightly to get a better view of his dick sliding between Cas' lips. “You want to be messed up and wasted and human then I will make you that way. All this time I've been treating you gently, treating you kindly and you just wanted this-”

Cas' eyes are wide, almost sad but glowing with lust, dark and needy.

“Don't you ever let me find you on your knees for anyone else,” Dean whispers, his voice ragged as his orgasm builds up, his hips rocking to meet Cas even as he pushes the other man's head down, roughly fucking his mouth. “Ever. Fuck, Cas-” Dean orchestrates their movements, turning them into quick, short motions at the top of his dick. His legs tremble, his cock leaking into Cas' mouth, though the jerking movements of their body makes the precome dribble out. “Swallow. Make sure you fucking swallow,” Dean gasps finally just before his orgasm hits. His fingers twist in Cas' hair, holding his head still whilst he comes down his throat, his hips jerking still of their own accord.

He finally releases the other man, letting go of his hair and dropping back against the bed. Cas' lips are bruised and swollen, his eyes glassy, breathing heavily. Dean looks him up and down appraisingly.

“What?” he asks, tucking himself back into his jeans. “That's what you wanted, isn't it?”

Cas swallows, blinking. “Yes, Dean.”

Two long seconds pass before Dean reaches down and grabs the collar of Cas' shirt, a shirt he picked out for him. He pulls Cas up and crushes their lips together in a desperate, needy kiss that leaves them both breathless. He pushes Cas onto the bed, climbing over him and leaning down to kiss away the tears that are beginning to run down from Cas' eyes to his ears.

“You're so stupid, so stupid, Cas-” Dean whispers, his mouth never leaving the other man's skin. “I love you, you stupid man. I love you. You're everything to me.”

Cas whimpers, his whole body trembling and despite everything Dean can't help his attention being drawn to the prominent erection between Cas' legs.

“Cas? Cas I love you,” Dean continues. “Whatever I can do- whatever I can do, please- please. Just let it be me and you. Don't do that to me again,” he says, pressing closer, pressing into Cas, moving his friend's pliable body so that he can kiss him and reach between his legs. “Angel or human, Cas, you're everything to me.”

Dean's fingers deftly undo Cas' pants, sliding his fingers down and into his underwear, wrapping around his dick. Cas' hips jerk up and he whimpers. “I can't, Dean-”

“You can,” Dean says, beginning to jerk Cas off slowly, humming as Cas, apparently despite his protests, rocks his hips up to meet Dean's hand. “You can.”

“I don't deser-” Cas breaks off to gasp when Dean's thumb rubs over the head of his cock, a shudder running through him. “I don't deserve you. Or this. You should have left me t-”

“Shh,” Dean cuts his words short with another kiss, deeper, their tongue meeting. “No more, Cas. Please. Just let me love you.”

Cas relents finally, closing his eyes and letting Dean take care of him, lifting his hips into Dean's fingers and whimpering out his pleasure softly at first and then writhing, groaning and twisting his hands in the sheets of the bed when Dean speeds up, relentless, wanting to see Cas come.

He does, choking a sob before coating Dean's hand and his own belly, reaching up blindly to pull Dean to him for another kiss.

“No more, Cas,” Dean speaks against Cas' lips. “No more of this. Please. I need you. I've needed you all of this time.”

“I used to be an angel,” Cas repeats his mantra, his eyes wide and blue and endless. “What can I do for you now?”

Dean snorts, a smile spreading over his lips despite the situation, despite everything. “Give me time and I'll show you.”


End file.
